


The List

by akamine_chan



Category: due South
Genre: Community: stop_drop_porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-23
Updated: 2010-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-15 15:51:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser has a list.</p><p>It's written on a single page of college-ruled notebook paper, carefully folded into fourths. At one point the creases were sharp, the ink unsmudged and clear.</p><p>Now, the paper is soft with age and frequent handling; it's been crumpled into a ball and smoothed out at least twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The List

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ community stop_drop_porn
> 
> Many, many, many late-night thanks to Waltzforanight for emergency beta service and tense wrangling. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine. Not my best effort, but I'm _tired_. Has either too much porn or not enough and I can't tell which.
> 
> Prompt: fireplace

Fraser has a list.

It's written on a single page of college-ruled notebook paper, carefully folded into fourths. At one point the creases were sharp, the ink unsmudged and clear.

Now, the paper is soft with age and frequent handling; it's been crumpled into a ball and smoothed out at least twice.

The paper is filled with line after line of Fraser's small, neat printing. Some rows have a check mark in front of them. Others don't.

 _...the nape of his neck..._

Fraser started his list the night he met Ray Kowalski. He'd returned from his vacation in Canada and found his best friend Ray Vecchio gone and an estraz Ray in his place. There'd been no time to think after that; the day had taken a sharp right turn and Fraser had found himself occupied with putty sandwiches, burning cars, a sudden plunge into the Lake They Call Michigan and a cascade of squeaky rubber ducks.

He still can't look straight at the memory of Ray stepping in front of him as Greta Garbo shoots; the possibilities are too painful to contemplate.

They went out to dinner that night, marking the start of their partnership over a shared meal. Ray dropped him off at the Consulate after dinner, promising to pick him up if Inspector Thatcher released Fraser to liaise with the Chicago PD. After moving his meager belongings into his office, Fraser sat down at his desk, pulled out a blank sheet of paper and wrote in his old-fashioned penmanship: _lick the nape of Ray's neck_.

He folded his list up and tucked it safely away in one of his father's journals.

Later that night, lying on his bedroll in his long underwear, wishing for a fireplace to warm him, Fraser tormented himself by thinking about all the wicked things he wanted to add to his list. He kept his hands clasped tight under his head and bit at his bottom lip, desperately aching to touch his erection but refusing to give in to the desire. He wanted _Ray_ to be the one to touch him, wanted _Ray_ to slowly unbutton his union suit and reach in with his long fingers and grasp him tightly and stroke...

Fraser froze and held his breath, abruptly teetering on the sharp edge of his orgasm. He tried to distract his overactive imagination, but it was much too late. He could almost feel the nape of Ray's neck under his mouth, the short, prickly hairs electrifying against his lips. He nuzzled the sweaty skin, feeling the heat and inhaling Ray's scent. Fraser leaned down, rubbing his stubbly chin roughly against Ray's neck, feeling him shudder and moan. Fraser gasped as his orgasm stuttered through him, chasing shivers down his spine.

Fraser cleaned himself up and changed into a fresh set of underwear, trying to push through the undercurrents of loneliness he felt in his solitary bed.

It was a long time before he fell asleep.

 _...his fingers..._

Ray and Fraser hadn't been together as more-than-partners for very long before Ray stumbled across the list. It had fluttered free from the pages of Fraser's copy of _Lichens of North American_ , hung weightless for a moment before drifting to the floor.

Ray leaned down to pick it up. He hesitated, because even though they were partners and best friends and _more_ , Fraser was still the most private person Ray knew. He slowly unfolded the paper, eyes widening in surprise as he scanned the list. Ray felt his cheeks warming in a rare blush.

His eye was caught by a particular line, one with a check in front of it. The blood left his cheeks and moved down his body, heat spreading into his cock and his belly. He was hard just from remembering what Fraser had done, _sucking on Ray's fingers..._

Fraser had _made love_ to Ray's fingers, taking each one into his warm mouth and sucking on it, sliding it back and forth, tightening his lips and wrapping his tongue around it. He used his tongue like a whip, licking and lashing Ray's fingers until Ray was panting and on the verge of begging.

“Oh my god, Fraser, please, you gotta—you gotta—oh!”

Fraser bit at the flesh of Ray's thumb, licked between his bony knuckles, scraped his teeth across the back of his hand. He pressed a soft kiss to the center of Ray's palm as he stroked his thumb lightly over the pulse in Ray's wrist.

Ray arched his back and hissed, “Fuck, Fraser!”

“What do you need, Ray?” Fraser's voice was mild, just the slightest bit husky, but his eyes were avidly watching Ray, spread out and panting on the bed in front of him. “Show me.” He went back to sucking on Ray's fingers, alternating with nibbles and careful bites.

Unable to wait any longer, Ray reached down and grabbed his cock with his free hand, stroking slowly, teasing himself by watching Fraser lick at the webbing between his fingers. With a groan, he closed his eyes; it was too much, it was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen and he wanted _that_ talented mouth on his dick so bad he was near tears.

Fraser whispered, “Look at me, Ray.”

Ray's eyes snapped open as Fraser scooted down, down, down to hover above Ray's cock, licking his lips. “Oh, fuck—” Holding his cock tightly in the vain hope of not coming immediately, he gasped as Fraser slowly took him in, bobbing his head once, twice before Ray cursed and thrust upwards, toes curling as he came, shaking. The feeling of Fraser swallowing greedily around him pulled an embarrassingly needy sound from Ray; he threw his arm up to hide his face and waited for his heart to stop hammering before he dragged Fraser up for a kiss.

He could taste himself on Fraser's tongue and that made him catch his breath, and kiss Fraser over and over until they fell asleep mid-kiss, wrapped around each other.

 _...his heart..._

The next time Ray ran across Fraser's list, he asked him about it. There was a long, stunned silence, and Ray knew Fraser was trying to figure out if he should be embarrassed, or ashamed, or some weird combination of both. He could see the wheels turning in Fraser's head and Ray gathered his patience.

And then Ray threw his patience out the window. Because he could see that Fraser had no idea what the list meant to Ray, how important it was.

Fraser made this list, this weirdly Canadian sexual to-do list, because he trusted Ray. Trusted Ray not to laugh, or run away, or be freaked out at Fraser's desires.

Ray needed trust more than he needed love. Love wasn't enough sometimes. He'd had love with Stella, but in the end it was a lack of trust that drove them apart. They'd lost trust in each other.

Fraser looked at him, blue eyes clear and deep, like a lake. “I trust you, Ray.”

Ray had to close his eyes and take a deep breath to keep from crying like a kid. “I trust you, too, Fraser,” he said, scratchy-voiced. And wrapped Fraser in a bear hug, holding him close.

 _...his ass..._

Ray sometimes liked to borrow ideas from Fraser's list.

Ray was surprised to find that one of his favorite things in the world was to lay Fraser out on the bed and use his tongue and lips and mouth to drive Fraser out of his mind. He'd had _no_ idea that he'd love doing this to Fraser.

He'd also had no idea that Fraser would fight him on this, each and every time.

After flipping Fraser onto his belly and straddling his legs, Ray spent a while admiring Fraser's ass. It was the most beautiful ass Ray had seen, hard and perfectly curved and muscled. He stroked it, rubbing his callused hands back and forth, sometimes using his nails hard enough to leave behind faint red streaks while Fraser rocked against the sheets, moaning quietly.

Sometimes Ray mumbled compliments against Fraser's pale skin as he kissed and nipped at Fraser's ass, delighting in the shivers and bitten-off moans.

Eventually, he spread Fraser open and licked softly, easing Fraser into it.

“Ray, please—you don't have to—Ray, Ray, Ray!”

He took his time answering, twirling his tounge around before answering. “You have a safe word, Fraser. You want me to stop, use it. Otherwise, shut up and let me enjoy what I'm doing.”

Fraser whimpered, lurching up onto his elbows, half-heartedly trying to escape what Ray was doing. “Oh, God, Ray, it feels too good, stop, please, stop—”

Ray ignored him and pushed _in_ and out, and back _in_ , fucking Fraser with his tongue, listening to the involuntary sounds that were torn from Fraser, growls and moans, broken sobbing sounds, muffled wails.

 _This_ is what Ray loved. Giving Fraser so much pleasure that he couldn't talk, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but take what Ray was giving him. Ray put his hands on Fraser's hips, pulling him up on his knees, taking away his friction, and started working on driving Fraser _insane_. It never took very long.

“You're so hot, Fraser. I love to listen to you, hear you lose control for me,” he whispered, alternately licking and doing a fancy little swirl with his tongue. “I love you so much and you deserve this, deserve to feel good, I want you to feel good...”

Ray reached under Fraser, barely touching his leaking cock before Fraser cried out loudly, shaking and shuddering under Ray, collapsing into a sweaty, trembling mess on the bed.

 _...his feet..._

It turned out that Ray had a foot fetish, which he discovered at the ripe age of forty. It was an odd thing to figure out about yourself at that age.

He figured it went well with Fraser's hand-fetish, so it was all good. Fraser's feet were, like the rest of him, absolutely gorgeous. Broad and perfectly shaped, with nicely formed toes and just the tiniest bit ticklish. And prone to hurting if Fraser spent too much time standing on them.

On days like that, Ray pushed Fraser onto the couch, stripping off his shoes and socks. He filled up a basin with warm water and spearmint bath salts, which were supposed to be _both_ soothing and invigorating, according to the saleswoman at the mall.

He made Fraser soak his feet and drink some of his favorite tea, while playing something soft and sweet on the stereo.

Later, when Fraser finally relaxed, he stretched Fraser out on the couch, poured some oil into his hands and rubbed Fraser's feet, massaging all the soreness and tension out of the delicate muscles, enjoying the soft sounds of contentment that Fraser would make when he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

Ray kept working on Fraser's feet, ignoring the ache in his hands, using his thumbs to loosen and relax, smiling to himself as Fraser grew sleepy. Before long, Fraser started snoring quietly and Ray would cover him with the afghan that Frannie had made for them, dropping a kiss on his head and wandering into the kitchen to make dinner.

-fin-


End file.
